Honeyed Pasture Eight seconds left in overdrive

Mason giggled when she looked him over and advised that she agreed with his Dad. Mason’s tail swished and whirled with his laughing movements, and he decided he already liked this pretty lady. He caught sight of an unusual splatter of black on her ruff as she continued talking, and Mason wondered how wolves actually got markings – his own were bizarre, he knew.
 
Mason giggled again – and shook his head emphatically. “No!” he interjected as she continued, and then his shaking head turned into a nodding one. “Yeah okay! I’ll do a trade! But I’m not telling you where our treasures are either.” Mason grinned, remembering the motto of the story Chaska the storyteller had given him.
 
“You go first!” Mason plonked his butt back on the snow, ready to receive any information she deemed worthy. He would rather she start because he didn’t even know what he could tell her that wasn’t boring about Silvertip. Maybe how many members they had and about their Glass Caves?